


Retired Numbers

by kosmosxipo



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, blaseball - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:16:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kosmosxipo/pseuds/kosmosxipo
Summary: Eugenia Garbage finds that Ziwa Mueller has been hard at work on a project during the Grand Siesta.
Relationships: Ziwa Mueller and Eugenia Garbage
Kudos: 9
Collections: Canada Moist Talkers Fanfiction





	Retired Numbers

Ziwa Mueller was so busy with her project that she didn’t notice Eugenia Garbage enter the grand entrance of the Gleek Arena. Eugenia started as a drip from a crack in the ceiling, before becoming a stream, and then, all at once, a quivering mass of goo that took the shape of a person. She watched Ziwa for a moment, who was up on a ladder, touching up a painting on the wall of the arena. 

“So this is where you’ve been all break,” Eugenia said. 

Ziwa jumped. She looked over her shoulder, her tendrils standing on end, the orange in her face getting deeper and brighter. When she saw it was Eugenia, her tendrils relaxed, and she climbed down to greet her.

Eugenia happily pulled her into a hug. “What have you been working on? Were you going to tell us?”

“It was going to be a surprise,” Ziwa said. “But since you’re here, you can tell me what you think.” She opened a panel on the wall and threw some switches. Lights on the ceiling flickered on, shining on two huge portraits. A sign over the portraits read, “Retired Numbers”. One was Ortiz Morse, looking wizened and dignified. Below his bust was a painting of his no-hitter, when he had thrown the last strike and the team had rushed the field, cheering and shouting, lifting him up on their shoulders. 

The other portrait was of Kiki Familia. She smiled wide, a sparkle in her eyes, ready to take on the world. Eugenia recognized it as the picture taken of her before her second official game, right after she had been suddenly called on to the team. She looked unstoppable. Below, like Ortiz, was a photo taken at a game, Kiki in mid-swing of her now-infamous triple, next to a shot of her batting for the Hall Stars. 

Eugenia stood with her hands on her hips. Ziwa must have spent all of the Grand Siesta working on this, taking her time to make everything look perfect. 

“How do they look?” Ziwa asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t take her eyes off of the portraits, her jaw pulled tight. 

“They’re wonderful,” Eugenia said. “It’s nice to see them again.”

Ziwa didn’t say anything. She didn’t move. Eugenia reached out and took her hand.

“You miss them.”

“I miss them so much,” Ziwa said. 

“You and Morse were pretty close.”

“We always used to talk about strategy,” Ziwa said. “Even when I was new he was happy to entertain me, and when we got Dot, the three of us could spend hours talking about how we would attack the next games. But Morse…” She paused, collected herself, took a deep breath. “You know he wanted to coach little league when he retired? He loved the game.”

“And we are all love him,” Eugenia said. “We didn’t know Kiki, though.”

“No, but that’s not her fault. I wish we could have gotten to know her better. She cared about this league so much, and she cared about us. She was the best of all of us.”

“I heard,” Eugenia said, slipping her arm around Ziwa’s waist, “that when she was called up to the Hall Stars to fight the Shelled One, she pointed at it and whispered ‘Justice’.”

Ziwa let out a little laugh. “That’s her. That’s what she did. She fought for us all and I’m so proud that she was a Talker.”

“She did good. We should all strive for that.”

Ziwa nodded. She hugged Eugenia. “So it’s good? Did I do good?”

“It’s wonderful. They deserve to be honored, and you did a great job.”

Ziwa let out a sigh of relief, touching her head to Eugenia’s. “I’m glad.”

The gates of the grand entrance squealed open. Eugenia’s tendrils flared out again. That entrance wasn’t supposed to be open to anyone. But she relaxed when she saw the figure walking through.

Richmond Harrison waved at Ziwa and Eugenia. 

“Rich!” Ziwa said. Richmond held his arms open, and Ziwa ran to him, jumping into a hug.

Richmond warbled warmly.

“It’s good to see you, Rich,” Ziwa said. “What are you doing here?”

He warbled and pointed at the portraits on the wall. 

“He said he heard about your project and wanted to contribute,” Eugenia said. She took her turn hugging Richmond, who lifted her up into the air and looked at her. He gargled a question. 

“Yeah, I wanted to try out a new look,” Eugenia said. “You like it?”

Richmond nodded and warbled happily.

“You can understand him?” Ziwa asked.

Eugenia bapped at Richmond’s stack of hats. “You can’t?” 

Richmond warbled out a longer sentence, handing Ziwa a bag. 

“What’s this?” Ziwa asked. She opened the bag.

“If you’re retiring numbers,” Eugenia said, “you should consider this one too.”

Ziwa pulled out a jersey. She unfolded it. On the back, it said “Cain.” She looked up at Richmond, who still smiled his unmistakable smile, but he couldn’t hide the sadness behind his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I revised this to the version that made it in to our Moist Talkers Zine. Grab it here: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1UtZA0BsiiGm0zJMEY9w4ABOqzUmsA7wD/view?usp=sharing
> 
> Or ask me and I'll send you a copy


End file.
